Frozen
by Laguna's twin sister
Summary: She was cold as death; he was warm with life. Could the same Gabranth who pierced her heart be able to bring her back to life?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own FF12. This fic was made without square-enix's permission, etc.

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_Winter was his favorite time of the year._

_While the older ones preferred to stay at home and away from the cold, his playmates on the other hand were often found outside, garbed in the most colorful winter clothes, carefully crafted by their mothers and grandmothers, as they played all day long._

_The neighbors often challenged them into snowball fights, which he and his brother often won nonetheless, but this just pushed them to taunt them even more. More children joined their game, much to the irritation of his brother, and it became harder to take out everyone each time. Yet this game was getting old for him, as he was now a boy of seven winters. His father trusted him enough to use real bows and arrows already, and clearly, hitting targets with snowballs now seemed so mundane. What he preferred to do now was to hunt down hares, especially the white ones that were difficult to find in the snow. He liked the thrill the chase brought him, and he also liked the stew his mother could make from his kill. _

_His brother often tagged along, though he knew he did not like the hunt as he did. He often told him that he hated rabbit stew, but deep inside he knew that his brother was just too gentle. He's had better opportunities to go for the kill, yet still he purposely missed, causing their target to run off quicker than before. It annoyed him, yet his brother would not allow him to go off alone either. So he just let him come along, though he made it a point to keep his distance. Conversely, this annoyed his brother, for he claimed their mother would get angry should they drift too far apart._

_He tried not to let their own annoyances bother him, for he was more intent in catching his first hare. Luck was perhaps on his side that day, he thought, as he saw a plump white hare by a thick snow covered bush. His brother was not around to mess up his aim either so he was sure he can hit it this time. He crouched down silently and took aim, stretching his other hand just enough to send his arrow spiraling towards his target. His final thoughts were on dinner when he let the arrow go and within seconds, he heard the sound of victory. _

_The hare was still writhing as he approached it, its blood smearing the snow, and for once he understood what his brother might have felt. Yet a hare was a hare, as his father would say, and it was a gift from the heavens. It was meant to be hunted, meant to be eaten. Its life was not for naught for it had served its purpose. _

_With his guilt completely forgotten, he jumped victoriously and held his catch by its ears. _

"_Noah!" he called out, hoping his brother would come quickly so he could show it off, "Noah! Come here! I've caught something!"_

_The sight of blood might upset him, but he knew his brother would still like to see it. They both have never seen a hare up close before and he suddenly wished he already knew how to set up a trap so he can catch live ones next time. Yet his first kill was still quite a sight, with its plump form and smooth pelt. It was dead though it was still kicking reflexively, and he seriously prayed his brother would arrive before its movements ceased completely. _

_Yet his brother was nowhere to be found. _

_He twirled around and found himself in the middle of nowhere. As he listened quietly, he realized that he heard nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat. Something was not right, he thought, as he looked at the endless snow around him. _

"_Noah?" he called out again, still to no avail. He thought he was just behind him, just as he had been minutes before. "It isn't funny Noah."_

_His heart beat faster and faster, he knew something was not right. He felt it… his brother, he was not all right. _

"_Noah!" without thinking, he dropped his kill on the ground as he started walking… running … desperately looking for any traces of his brother._

"_Noah!"_

"Noah"

The soft grumble the Judge Magister made was almost inaudible, yet the small vibrations it made on his metallic helmet were enough to rouse him from his light slumber. He opened his eyes and saw the filtered light and realized he had fallen asleep on the job… once again. Feeling a bit timid, he straightened up on his seat and quickly removed his helmet to wipe away the sweat that had formed in his head. It was a good thing that no one saw the spectacle for it was already early morn and his staff had already left.

He buried his head on his upturned palm as he tried to compose himself. Now that he took his brother's place, memories of their childhood often came back to haunt him. For years he tried to forget his brother's existence just to suppress the pain and anger in his heart. Yet now that all his sins… both their sins, have been forgiven, he welcomed the memories somehow. The memories still brought him pain, but there was some tinge of fondness and nostalgia, for the Gabranth he knew was now gone and he had his brother, Noah, back before **he** ultimately lost him forever.

He was the _Gabranth_ _now_, and things would no longer be the same though it was his task to fool everyone else. Adjusting to his new life was still difficult, and after a year he still had so much work to do. Acting like his twin was just one aspect, and it was more complicated than what people expected. He had known Noah all his life, perhaps much better than he knew himself, but _Gabranth_ was a different character altogether. No one ever taught him how to play the part properly – yet he needed to figure it all out on his own, else blow off his cover. Very few people knew of his secret, and it was most certainly not easy to keep it that way.

What he did not know was the _old Gabranth_ had secrets of his own, and it was even more difficult to deal with those.

* * *

**Frozen**

* * *

Chapter 1

He finally decided to turn in for the night when he realized he was too tired to continue in the first place. He stood up tiredly and fixed the remaining papers in his desk in a languid manner.

Yet he was suddenly alert when he heard a knock on the door of his office, just when he was about to wear his helmet. He thought it peculiar to get a visitor at such an ungodly hour, for it never happened to him before. But then he figured that it would be even more peculiar for malefactors to have manners, though he did not discount the possibility completely.

He heard nervous coughing from the other end of the door and saw a shadow of a lone man. Cautiously, he turned the knob and faced his visitor while he tried to see if he had any accomplices, and later on realized he had none.

"Judge Magister Gabranth?"

The middle-aged man looked timid as he gripped his own gloves tightly. His round spectacles almost fell off the bridge of his nose and his uniform was crumpled slightly. He was dressed as a scientist from the Draklor Laboratory, and his bearing looked natural enough to exude he was not pretending to be someone else.

"What is it that you need that you seemed to have come here so clandestinely," Basch spoke finally after concluding his assessment of the man. "State your name and purpose immediately."

"Yes sir!" the man stuttered as he suddenly stood in attention. "I've come to report on the …" he stopped as he looked behind him, seeming to check once more if no one eavesdropped in their conversation, "I came to report on the matter you have specifically entrusted to me over a year ago."

A year ago? He knew of no dealings Gabranth made with any personnel of the Draklor Laboratory and he considered the possibility that the man was merely mistaken, or worse, trying to trap him. Yet he also considered the possibility that the man was telling the truth, and he knew a wrong move could reveal his guise instantly.

"Which matter do you speak of?" he replied as he pulled the man in his office and closed the door once more.

The man paced back and forth for a while as he glanced at him nervously from time to time. Basch was about to repeat his question when finally the man spoke once more.

"You seem to have _forgotten_ Judge Magister, and I understand it might have been because of the number of issues you've had to deal with everyday," he said, nervousness still in his voice. "It is I, Wells, from Draklor's Cryonics department."

Cryonics? It was a word he never heard before. He remained silent as he tried to remember all those documents he had read, or anything that could possibly give him a clue as to what it was.

"What then do you have to report regarding that … matter," Basch finally asked, praying it would not be too obvious that he was merely fishing for answers.

"I believe I've come across a breakthrough Judge Magister," his features brightened up, despite continuing to look timid, "I've found a way to restore her heart."

_Restore her heart? _Basch became even more confused. Restore her heart? Whose heart? Who was she? He tried to think of all the female personalities the 9th bureau had handled within the past year and yet he was still at a loss. Could it have been a personal affair then? And what did _restore_ mean exactly?

"Judge Magister, you have not visited even once since you last brought her to my laboratory, and for a while I thought you've lost hope… or even interest," Wells then got a handkerchief and wiped his brow, "but after all that you have done for me, after you backed my project and gave me my own laboratory and all, I thought that at the very least, I owed you enough to let you know that I have discovered something … Something quite… important."

"Stop talking in riddles Doctor Wells; please get to the point immediately," Basch muttered in frustration as he still had no clue as to what was going on.

"Yes sir!" the man jumped in surprise once more as he faced him, "Judge Magister, with all due respect, I do not know how else to say this without … well… surprising you too much but…I do not know if this news would be pleasant to you or not … or if…"

"Just get on with it!"

"Y…yes sir…" Wells looked up and with his eyes unwavering he finally said, "Judge Magister, she is carrying a child, and with all due respect… I believe it might be _yours_."

* * *

Never in his life had he been in a situation such as this one, and like many other things in his life, he was not prepared for it all. Just when he thought he had been through it all, this scenario unfolded before him. Then again, he realized that he was not exactly the subject in this case, but _Gabranth_, yet he was him now, and that made things all the more complicated.

Noah fathered a bastard child? His mind still reeled at the thought as he followed Wells through the dark corridors of the Draklor Laboratory. He would not believe it until he saw it himself. After all, this might all be just a joke, a trap, or worse. Yet if it had been true, he did not know how to deal with this particular secret the _old Gabranth_ had up his sleeve.

He noticed that the temperature decreased significantly when they reached the end of the corridor. The scientist quickly entered a sequence on the security panel and the thick metallic doors of the room opened quickly. He walked in the new room cautiously, still preparing for the worst as he glanced from side to side. Yet when the lights were opened, his gaze froze on what was at the center of the room and for a moment he forgot everything else.

She was like a goddess, encapsulated in glass. He suddenly remembered stories from his childhood – those that talked about a queen… the snow queen that lived in a castle, far far away, waiting for a valiant knight that sought to melt her frozen heart. Her long white hair floated around her, forming a cocoon that gracefully coated her porcelain skin. He thought it looked like angel wings, and it was quite fitting, for the sleeping goddess surpassed anything that he had seen on this earth. She was perfect in her nakedness, almost ethereal, as she floated in the contraption she was in. Perhaps her only flaw was a small scar, just above her breast, one that seemed to have pierced her heart… the frozen heart of the snow queen.

"Restore her heart…" Basch mumbled the words as if in a daze, as he yearned to touch her scar, to see if he had the power to mend her wounds himself.

"She remained the same as that day you left her in my care Judge Magister," Wells finally spoke, "Due to the freezing process, all her functions have been halted, from her metabolism to her gestation. It was only when I did a final check on her that I found another life in her womb." He idly looked at his charts at the table as he continued, "the only change perhaps is her hair. It continued to grow at a faster rate despite her homeostasis. It is a known side-effect of one of the drugs I have used to preserve her. But worry not, all her functions would slowly revert back to normal should she be restored successfully."

Basch found it hard to concentrate on what Wells was telling him when his mind was still fully captured by the goddess before him. Who… who was she, he asked the question over and over again, until Wells's earlier words finally registered – she was left to his care, Noah left her there – she was Noah's goddess.

He searched his memory once more to look for a clue as to who she could possibly be. If Noah had gone so far as to ask a man of science to preserve…

Preserve?

Was she all right? The scar… could the wound have possibly killed her?

_Who is she, Noah? _He muttered in his head, wishing he could still communicate with his twin though he was in the afterlife. _Give me a clue Noah. _

As if on cue, thoughts of his brother on his death bed suddenly entered his mind.

"_Your words put me at ease brother…I'm sorry to leave you." _

Those were his final words to him as he clutched his hand. He still felt the pain in his heart as he remembered it all too vividly. Noah looked up as tears fell down from his eyes. He went closer to wipe them away, unable to stop himself from pressing his forehead to that of his own brother's. Then he closed his eyes as he finally breathed his last.

"_Drace"_

And then he was gone.

Drace

That was the name he last uttered.

It was the name used by the Judge Magister of the fourth bureau, an expert on the Archadian political machinery. She was the only daughter of the fifth generation of House Dufaure, a prominent family that originated from Ordalia. She was distinguished for her academic honors and her strong military background despite her gender. She took charge of Lord Larsa's education and training once he reached the age of six. A little over a year ago, her impeccable record was tarnished when she was cited for contempt of the ruling autocrat and was sentenced to death…

…She was then executed by… Judge Magister Gabranth.

He staggered backwards as he remembered all the information he had gathered about her. He leaned on the cold wall as he looked at her once more and realized the gravity of the situation. Judge Magister Drace was a woman killed through his brother's hands, a woman who now possibly carried his child. The data stored in the ninth bureau's archives said nothing of this affair. Yet his brother's mere mention of her name in his dying breath was enough proof that there was more to her… to them that world would never know.

His brother brought her there to try to save her life. Could he have known…? Could he have done it not merely out of remorse?

"I've tested the procedure on a bangaa, and it worked. She would be the first hume subjected to the treatment," Wells approached the capsule that held her as he looked upon her as well, "it would still be a gamble Judge Magister, that is why I've come to ask for your permission. Now that there is another life involved, surely the stakes are higher."

It was a gamble he never wanted to take in the first place, and yet he had no choice but to deal with it now. He did not feel as though he had the right to meddle, for this particular unfinished affair no longer involved Gabranth but Noah as well. This affair stemmed from his brother's heart, and it was not something he could take over for. Yet this woman was inadvertently his family now, and that child was his own flesh and blood. The ties that bound them may not be as strong as he or they would have wanted. Yet he was left with no choice. Blood was thicker than water, and that at least amounted to something.

"Judge Magister… you must understand that the procedure is still risky. At this stage, I am confident enough to promise success… but that is just one aspect. She has been erased in the civil registry's records. To her family, to Archadia, she is dead. I could mend her wounds and give her life, yet I do not have the power to make her _live_ again."

To have life without living – it was a feeling he knew all too well. Perhaps he was pretty much like the undead, but with only one major difference.

He had a reason to stay alive. His life was not for naught.

Could she have one as well? The child in her womb seemed to be reason enough. Surely, the child deserved a chance at life; the child deserved to live.

"They must both live," he said with finality, "that is the only acceptable outcome."

* * *

_He ran, shouting his brother's name all the while. His fear made him feel colder, but he did not stop, he could not stop running. He had to reach his brother no matter what. _

"_Noah!" he shouted, his voice already hoarse, "Noah, where are you?"_

_He needed to find him, not just because his mother would kill him if he didn't, not just because it was his duty as the older twin. He needed to find Noah for he could never be the same without him. No matter how much they bickered or how much they annoyed each other, they were still brothers; and even in his young mind, he knew that brothers stuck together no matter what. _

"_Basch!" he suddenly heard the faint voice and he froze on his tracks. _

"_Noah!" he walked desperately, as he sought his brother's voice. "Where are you?"_

"_Why did you leave me Basch?" he heard the despair in his voice and that pushed him harder than before. "I am scared Basch! It's so dark in here."_

_Noah was not scared easily. In some respects, he was braver than he was, at least when they were together. Now that he thought about it, they never really were apart. It was scary to be alone, and he felt so scared now. That only made him more desperate to find his twin. _

_He knelt down on the ground, ignoring the cold, as he swept away the snow, looking for a crevice or a hole where his brother might have fallen into. _

"_Hang in there Noah," he said firmly, as he tried to keep his voice from shaking to avoid scaring his brother even more, "I did not leave you, and I will not stop until I find you."_

_For a while his brother did not reply, and he panicked, thinking something bad might have happened to him. He only started breathing again when he heard him shout once more. _

"_I believe you Basch," he stopped to cough loudly, "So hurry up and find me already."_

"_Help me out then!" he replied, as he pulled off his gloves to enable him to move the snow faster, "don't stop calling out for me!"_

* * *

Author's Notes: Cryogenic freezing is usually done on fruits… and some human cells, but then it's a common sci-fi theme I suppose. Just think… er… Austin Powers, Han Solo or even Spike Spiegel. I think, with Dr. Cid researching on nethcites, espers, and making airships and all that, cryogenic freezing won't be that too farfetched. But that's just my opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was odd how pieces of paper can tell you so much someone, without really disclosing that much at all. Archived accounts of past deeds and misdeeds only intrigued him more, for despite days of perusing all the documents he had gathered about the _late Judge Magister Drace_, to him she still remained a mystery.

He visited her nightly, trying to reconcile the image before him and the image he had visualized, only to come to the conclusion that it was impossible. On paper, Judge Magister Drace was cold, methodical. She adhered to the letter of the law, and was ruthless in enforcing it on criminals, regardless of their social rank. She sent hundreds to the dungeons, and an even bigger number to their deaths. Many thought she would be more merciful as compared to her male counterparts, and perhaps she truly was that – for despite the number of malefactors she had punished, all of them met their fate for a just cause after a just trial.

Yet in person, at least as she remained in her sleeping state, she seemed so much…gentler, kinder. Her soft features and lithe body made him wonder how she managed to don her armor, why she was made to don such a hideous armor, when she could have been in something else, somewhere else. She seemed so delicate, almost like porcelain, with her pale skin and even paler hair. This image made him think more of how she could have affectionately shaped the young Larsa. She seemed so soft, so motherly – an image that probably contributed to the young lord's gentle nature despite his family's dark past.

Under close scrutiny he noticed more battle scars in her body, almost like tattoos that looked completely out of place. Eventually, he concluded that it was not a complete contradiction, for he had been surrounded with such strong women in his life, even when he was still Basch. Perhaps Drace was akin to those women. They were not perfect, and that just made them even more beautiful.

He was starting to admire her, perhaps more than he should. He still knew so little about her, whereas _his brother knew so much_, and this made her seem more untouchable, almost forbidden.

As he continued to watch her in her slumber, he figured that was probably the closest they could be. In that state she remained to be his snow queen, as he tried to be a deserving knight. While he already was firm in his decision to care for her in his brother's stead, in his heart he still had a doubt.

Will he ever be able to melt the snow queen's heart?

* * *

_He did not have the grace his brother had, nor did he have the "agreeable nature" their female peers often saw. To them he was the scruffier one of the two, for he preferred to show his strength instead of his charm – frankly he thought he did not have any of the latter to show off in the first place. He just liked things as it were, and keeping up appearances was not really his concern. _

_He had accepted his supposed "inadequacy" relative to his brother, partly due to his mother's reassurance that he had his own finer points as well, yet it still bothered him when people continued to expect them to be more alike, or when they rubbed it in his face how different they truly were. He was often called aloof, inconsiderate, or even overly gruff – in contrast to his brother who was amiable, friendly and courteous to a fault. _

_At any other given time, he would have just let the simple matter slip, yet their blatant distinction angered him somewhat whenever it was time once more for the winter festival. _

_The surplus of pies and knitted scarves had always been a definite indication; surely more than half of the girls their age were already eager to have his brother ask them out for the festival. Yet he was indecisive, as he was every year, and he claimed he merely feared to break the others' hearts. So he in turn became his brother's saving grace, for it had been his unspoken duty to take out the girl who had been hurt the most by his rejection. _

"_Estelle's pecan pie gets better every year," he told him, hoping he did not sound too eager. He was determined not to go out with her this year, after how miserable she seemed to be the year before. "Perhaps you should thank her by asking her out?"_

_His brother smiled at him wryly, already reading his mind before he said more, "We both know you like pecans more than I do. You ask her out."_

_Whoever thought his brother was the more amiable one was clearly mistaken. He was the one who put up with gloomy dates every year. "I'm not going to ask someone… just because of … food!"_

"_Exactly," his brother replied as he carefully folded the last of the scarves he got that day, "It is no surprise that we think the same way."_

_He grumbled as he stuffed another spoonful of the pie to his mouth almost grudgingly. "So have you finally decided?" which broken hearted girl I must ask this time, he added to himself. _

"_I… I don't know." _

"_If not Estelle, then you could always go for Lufia, I would advice against asking out Fleur for clearly Geolg likes her. You wouldn't want him picking a fight with you again," He told him as a matter-of-factly while gesturing with his spoon. "I saw the sword he obtained from Nalbina. It was quite sharp, believe me."_

"_Perhaps I shall ask no one at all. Let us go out with our cousins instead. Let us pelt the wyrm statute and raid Uncle's wine stash. We could even help those in charge of the fireworks, for old time's sake."_

_He remained silent as he thought about what his brother just said. While the idea pleased him immensely, he suddenly realized how the pies that had his brother's name on it would inevitably be wasted. They would probably eat it for days to come, and somehow he already felt his stomach ache at the thought._

"…_that is of course unless you reconsider asking out Estelle."_

_Perhaps he and his brother were more alike than he thought after all._

"_I shall think about it," he finally replied, feigning indifference. _

* * *

The snow queen was on fire.

She shivered violently, as though her body wanted to compensate for the months she spent immobile in her slumber. Her skin was too warm to his touch, even as he tried to douse her forehead with cold compresses which did not seem to work at all. Yet he continued to wipe her brow nonetheless, in a feeble effort to comfort her, as he watched her convulsions helplessly with his tired eyes.

Doctor Wells already warned him beforehand about the high fever that would come as a direct result of her operation. He told him that it would look quite severe, when in truth it was far from fatal, for the medicines would continue to bring her bodily functions under control. He had anticipated it, but that still did not stop him from worrying.

She was close enough to be touched but her delirium still kept her away from his grasp. She mumbled incoherently, seeming to fight a nightmare from within. He had wanted to cheer her on, for he knew how difficult it was to endure such a battle alone. Yet he was too exhausted to even speak after yearning to reach her amidst her fever for so long. He swore not to give up, nonetheless. He would see her through in her most desperate hour.

Blindly, she reached out, her fingers seeming to ache, hoping to feel. He clasped her hand in his without any hesitations, relieved for having an opportunity to finally do something for her. He silently watched her take one labored breath after another as her eyelids moved, as if she wanted to open her eyes. He squeezed her hand gently to show his encouragement – and was finally gifted with seeing her hazel eyes for the first time.

Her eyes remained unfocused, opening and closing as she breathed. Without really thinking, he reached out to stroke the side of her face with his free hand, wishing she would let him see her eyes once more. She seemed more alert that way, and so he wanted to keep her eyes open, so he could reassure himself that she was far from death as the doctor had said.

After much prodding, she finally acceded to his unspoken request, groggily moving her head towards his direction and finally focusing her eyes to look upon his own gray ones. She did not seem to see him at first, as the fever continued to cloud her vision. Yet soon, small creases were formed in her forehead, and he was sure she was trying to make out his face in the haziness.

"Is … is that you?" she asked, her voice barely inaudible, "Gabranth?"

"Aye," he replied, as he squeezed her hand gently. Her tortured expression mellowed down considerably, and for once she did not look like she was in pain. She closed her eyes briefly, blinking away unshed tears, only to open and gaze upon him once more.

"I sought you… in my… dreams?" She coughed weakly, yet her eyes continued to smile, "I could not find you there… but… here you are. You were with me, after all."

He nodded, as he was unable to do anything else. How was he to tell her that he was not the man she was looking for? How was he to tell her of what happened to _him_, now that he just stole her from death? She should have been with him now, had he not intervened. Then again, _he_ possibly did not want her to be with him in the first place. After all, his brother went to great lengths to keep her alive.

Idly, he pushed the loose locks of hair away from her face, lingering slightly as he felt pity in his heart. How was he to tell her that the Gabranth she knew was no longer living? How was he to tell her that she was supposed to be dead? He just realized how he parted them. He faintly wondered if going with his brother's plans just enabled him to cause her more misery.

Surely, he could not cause her more pain than what she already felt now.

"Rest, rest and get better," he whispered tenderly, praying his brother's face would be enough to comfort her delirious mind. "Just rest and I will remain by your side."

She held on to his promise as she closed her eyes, donning a tranquil expression for the first time that night.

He in turn continued his vigil, suddenly more troubled than he ever was in his whole lifetime.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I want to thank The Brown-ie for encouraging me to write and post this fic. I had this idea in my mind for a while now, but I only had the guts to actually write and post it now. Brown-ie's Basch x Drace fic was really nice and I do hope you check it out as well when you have time (that is if Basch x Drace floats your boat of course)

Drace was quite underdeveloped in the game and I am afraid I might have to erm… wield my creative license powers. I hope I won't overdo it. (If I do, please tell me.) Also, again, I have trouble with eye colors. I see Drace's eyes as kind of yellow… but gray… and green. So I settled for Hazel because according to wiki it can look yellow to gray to green depending on the lighting. *sweatdrop* please forgive my ignorance.

Those who've seen me write before know how slow I am. Uh… It might take me years to finish this, but yes, I will finish it eventually. So there. Thank you very much to those who bothered to read. I would appreciate comments and suggestions (flames, rants, death threats? Oh, but not spam. It's against ff dot net's policy and I'm broke. Hahaha) Thanks again!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The silence was unnerving, but she chose to push the fear away from her heart. She ached everywhere and the clashing of heat and cold within her body only made things worse. She was still in a daze, unsure of her whereabouts or her current condition. The only clear thought she had was that she was in pain – and she figured that she was either burning or hell, or possibly still alive…

Alive

She felt the sharp pain in her chest, where his sword had pierced her. The blow was meant to kill her and yet…why?

Tentatively, she opened her eyes, half expecting herself to be in a morgue, or six feet under. Yet she quickly saw the filtered light within a… room? She blinked several times, with her eyes still burning with the fever, as she tried to focus on her surroundings once more.

She saw the familiar looking fixtures in the sparsely furnished room she was in. She closed her eyes briefly as she probed her mind for more clues as to why the place looked familiar in the first place. Idly, she touched the covers… the flat starched covers of the small bed she was in as she did so. She moved her head slightly and nuzzled the pillow, the firm pillow that filled her senses with his familiar scent…

She remembered lying down on that bed. She remembered how it shifted as he lay on it as well. She remembered how the sheets felt like on her skin after each movement, how the rough sheets felt no smoother than his caresses.

She remembered how she woke up the morning after, sated, yet wasted, alone in that rigid bed.

He did not even wake her to say goodbye. The consideration he gave her was no more than what a paid harlot deserved. Yet she did not lash out at him, nor did she tell him about her feelings. It was not her place to feel _anything_ after all. She knew that before she even went to his room, before she even lay on his bed. She was the one who laid down the rules of their liaison after all. She woke up that day without any regrets – but any hope in her heart faded away as well.

And now she found herself in the same position once again. Only this time, she realized she was much weaker, much more hopeless and helpless as she had been.

She strained to move, and the slightest movement caused her intense pain. Yet she still held on to her firm resolve. Her pride would not forgive such helplessness any longer. Valiantly she reached out and tried to crawl out of bed, still despised with herself for her weakness. She may no longer carry on like this… she cannot allow him to see her like this… no… no…

Why had she been there in the first place? Surely it was not due to the reasons that brought her in that same bed earlier.

All she could remember was the pain from his sword… and his sorrowful eyes… eyes that seemed so tender, eyes that seemed to truly look at her only for the first time. She saw those eyes as she slipped away… slipped away…

"Drace!"

She felt strong arms around her, breaking her fall. The coldness of his metal armor contrasted with the warmth in her skin that she instinctively shied away from his touch, almost repulsively. Yet his hold was true, and soon, she found herself atop the rigid bed once more.

"Gabranth?" she asked weakly, as she watched him with slight fascination as he pulled the blankets around her.

He remained silent as he placed his hand firmly on top of her forehead, gazing into her eyes almost like how he did before. It was odd to see so much concern from those deep gray eyes that she suddenly felt like weeping. He continued to hold her gaze, with his hand moving to cup her cheek. It was then that she suddenly wondered if perhaps her fantasies could come true after all.

"Gabranth?" she asked once more, a bit frightened of not hearing him speak back, for it would inevitably let her know that he was just a figment of her imagination.

"Drace, I am sorry, I should not have left you," he murmured as he stroked her hair with his other hand, "but I am here now. Rest and I promise to be here once you awaken."

That was exactly what he said in her puerile dreams, as she drowned in her own self-pity, the day after they _used each other_. He couldn't have had a change of heart just now. He couldn't have meant the words he just said… perhaps she had imagined him after all?

She reached out to make sure once again that he was real. She then felt his skin… his smooth hair… his jagged scar…

"What happened to your…"

He took hold of her hand and placed it by her side. "Now is not the time… you still have a fever, you need to rest."

But why…? How…?

"What happened? Why am I here?" she gasped, "Why are you caring for me?"

His gaze shifted slightly as he seemed to search for the right words to tell her.

"Gabranth?"

"You will know soon enough," he finally replied, as he closed his eyes briefly. He opened them once more and added, "right now, your health is more important. You need to rest."

She finally yielded to his stubbornness, as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Still, her current situation and his sudden gentleness continued to bother her.

Things were not supposed to be like this, she thought. She could not be this pathetically weak, and he could not be this graciously benevolent. Their relationship was clearly hard to figure out, and even she was unsure of it herself. Yet surely, it could not be as simple and as peaceful as this.

They may have shared something. But it was not enough to enable him to act this way. Her Gabranth had his heart frozen inside. In the outside he was just as cold as steel. And that was exactly what drew her to him. His coldness matched hers, and she was able to freely give herself… without melting away. They were made for each other, in her belief, and she was sure the feelings were mutual to some extent. Ice with ice, snow with snow, they could touch each other without a shiver, their numbness brought about a sense of comfort.

Though admittedly, she wanted to feel something more, she was resigned to the idea that he could not and would not be able to give her more than what he had already given. His rage consumed him; his quest for vengeance always came between them. She was just the same. Her pride always got in the way; Archadia was her life. With this, clearly, it would be unjust to ask for more.

To her, that imperfect relationship they had was special, and she was sure that she would not feel the same way with any other man.

Yet this Gabranth acted so differently. His concern for her was almost admirable. Oddly, it made her heart throb painfully. How could he act this way when he already pierced her heart not too long ago? How could he be so … kind when he killed her, when she let him kill her, over and over again?

How could he continue to stroke her with those hands… those warm, gentle hands that lightly touched her… so unlike those hands that left a mark on her pale skin, those hands that grabbed on to her fiercely that fateful night?

"Why are you doing this, Gabranth?" she mumbled as she struggled to open her eyes to look at him once more just when his gentle ministrations started to lull her to sleep.

He looked at her again with those sorrowful eyes, yet this time, she saw something else. Was it… pity?

"I care for you, Drace," he finally replied, as he eased his frown and forced a smile. "I would not be at ease until you get well."

_No… it can't be…_

She fell into a dreamless slumber upon hearing his words, knowing fully well that_ Gabranth_ would not be able to keep his promise to be with her after all. She was sure of the truth before she closed her eyes.

The _Gabranth_ she last saw would surely be gone when she wakes up, for clearly he was nothing but an illusion.

* * *

_She watched him quietly as he sat in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in his hands. She did not know if he truly knew she was there for he did not seem to acknowledge her presence. The Dalmascan armor he wore was haphazardly discarded at the side of the room, leaving him bare, letting her see him clearly for the first time. _

_This Gabranth was not as unfeeling as others claimed him to be. In truth, his reflection showed a multitude of emotions with a simple grimace – pain, anger, remorse, among other things. His confidence waned, as seen from his slumped shoulders and bent head, so unlike his usually proud posture. Without the armor, Judge Magister Gabranth was completely human after all. _

_He opened his eyes slowly as he looked at his own reflection. Perhaps he saw the vulnerability there as well, and this just made him scowl fiercely. Furiously, he grabbed his hair by his nape by one of his hands as the other went up to cut it off with the scissors he held. The long metallic blades hacked his hair in one swift motion and soon he was left with a short jagged cut. He threw the scissors and ran his shaking hands through his head, grabbed the loose locks of his hair and tossed it aside. _

"_It all went well, if that is what you wanted to ask," he muttered under his breath when he finally saw her reflection behind him as he glanced at the mirror. "Expect the edict come morning."_

"_The plan might have worked," she replied with a soft voice as she went closer to him tentatively, "Yet it does not seem like things truly went well as you have said." She bent down and picked up the discarded scissors and held it firmly in her hands. "Did the scales tip not in your favor, Gabranth?"_

_He closed his eyes once more as he sighed heavily. "In this war, the scales are held not by justice but by those in power. It was a fact I've already come to terms with long ago." _

_She unconsciously held the scissors tighter as she stopped herself from retorting. She knew how unkind the war had been to him, and her opinions about the empire or justice would not matter at that point. This time, her only task was to remind him, and to help him cope with what he had just done._

_She was one of the few who disagreed with Vayne's plans of conquering Dalmasca, for the Rozarian invasion clearly overshadowed his dreams of conquest. She believed that they had to protect what they already had now instead of grabbing more power, using underhanded means at that. _

_Gabranth played a major part in this plan, but she knew his motivation had been completely different. She did not want to say his intentions were pure for it was far from it, yet he had not been an unwilling victim either. Somehow she understood his pain, and that was enough reason for her to try to be on his side._

"_But you had the power; you had the upper hand."_

"_Aye, the scale tipped in my favor all right," he muttered dryly, "and I've received table scraps of retribution… a fitting reward for a loyal dog." _

"_Stop it!" she grumbled, finally unable to hold her tongue, "We judges are not mere pawns. Going with Vayne's plan had been your choice. Admit it; you had your own reasons for going with his plan."_

"_My choice?" He faced her, suddenly with a stoic expression. His eyes were suddenly cold, and it was almost as if he donned the judges' armor in an instant. "That dammed traitor made that choice after he decided to side with Dalmasca and abandon our homeland."_

_His voice had an edginess that she did not miss; it was almost as if the shell he made, no matter how formidable, still had cracks in between. Then again, she figured this flaw was not that of weakness. He was proud, yes, scornful, perhaps. Yet most of all… his flaw… his flaw might not have been a flaw at all. The fissure in his seemingly frozen heart showed warmth within. _

_Perhaps he still had what many Judge Magisters already lost long ago? _

"_Let it rest, Gabranth," she whispered as she reached out to stroke his hair. Slowly, his eyes softened while he continued to maintain his impassive expression. "Judgment has been rendered. He is no more."_

"_He is no more…" he repeated the words under his breath, as he allowed her to push him down the stool with his back facing the mirror this time around. Slowly, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cut off the rough edges, and uneven strands. Carefully, she shaped him, molded him back to the state he was in before this had all happened._

_Soon, he was back to what she knew to be his old self – neat, polished, imperturbable Gabranth. He faced the mirror and looked at himself, seemingly content with what she had done. _

_Still. There was still something different, something she could no longer seem to erase… that very thing she still wanted to see in her own reflection._

"_No more…"_

_He winced slightly as he reached up to briefly cover his face with his hands. He whispered the words again and again like it were a prayer._

_Yes, he still had it._

"_No more…"_

_Pain, anger, remorse. _

_The cold Gabranth still had his innocence after all. _

* * *

She did not know how long she had been awake or when she had started seeing _him_, but then she realized she was not just delirious anymore. Logic started to grace her mind as she remembered bits and pieces of her immediate past… She knew of the Emperor's death and Vayne's treachery. She remembered her colleagues' betrayal and the pain from their swords. She deduced that some time must have passed, for she just realized how long her hair had grown. Yet time was only one of the factors of the confusing equation, for she lay wounded in the most unexpected place as well. But she surmised that she could cope with those facts somehow… if only… if only it was truly Gabranth she saw and not someone else.

That fact made her doubt that she regained her logic at all.

She was in a familiar place, in the company of a stranger, one that eerily looked familiar at that. He had the same hair, the same face, the same build. With his eyes closed and his expression fairly neutral, she guessed that one might not even be able to tell the difference. Yet his scar was something out of place, though she only saw a glimpse of it as his unmarred side faced her. Still, his looks did not fool her, for she knew that _Gabranth_ never really looked that peaceful, even in his sleep.

She had an idea as to who _he_ was, though why he was there was still an idea she had not fully figured out. She had several hypotheses in her mind, and all of them filled her with unsettling thoughts. She feared for Larsa's safety, as well as Archadia's. Assuming the war with Dalmasca had not ended would mean that this _imposter_ was before her through treacherous designs. He may be planning something up his sleeve and perhaps he wanted to use her as well. Yet assuming the war had ended… now that it was _he_ who was by her side, now that he was _actually by her side_, made her think that it had not ended favorably for Archadia… for her Gabranth.

That seemed to be the most logical conclusion. He was either dead, or locked in a dungeon somewhere for poetic justice. She seemed more inclined to think the former, though frankly, she did not know how to feel either way.

Gabranth was gone.

Her stoic mind went against her sore heart. She felt the pain in her chest intensify, and besides the physical pain, she realized she could not feel anymore. She could not weep, she could not speak, she did not even know if she could continue breathing. Gabranth was gone and everything just seemed to stop there.

"Drace?"

She barely heard his hoarse voice as she looked at him defiantly. There was so much concern in his eyes that she wanted to believe that she was just mistaken and it was truly _he_ who spoke to her and yet…

"Drace, can you hear me?" he asked her again, sounding visibly panicked, "where does it hurt?"

His eyes looked at her, his voice spoke to her … and yet he was gone… gone…

"Drace!" He touched her firmly as his gaze intensified, "Drace, stay with me."

Could it be those same hands that finished him? Could he have seen his own reflection as he died?

"Drace-"

"-How… did you feel?" she finally managed to gasp out, "How did you feel when you pierced _Gabranth_ with your sword?"

He suddenly let go, as if he were scorched by her question. His eyes were wide and his lips were tightly pursed still not believing he heard the right words.

"How did you feel, you bastard," she bit out, as she shivered slightly, "did he also die in your arms?"

"Drace, I…"

"Do not touch me!" she hissed when she slapped his hands away, "Tell me. How did it feel like?"

He stood up and moved slightly away from the bed. He closed his eyes and remained silent.

"I do not know what your game is, but there is no point in keeping me alive," she muttered, "I already know how it feels like… to be pierced, to die." _And yet I do not know how to feel like now that I am alive._

She continued to shiver on the bed, not knowing what fate had left in store for her. Had she not suffered enough? Hell seemed more pleasant than this. What part must she play in this game… what part must she play with _him_.

"I would like to think I know the feeling as well," he spoke several minutes later. "I too know how it feels like to be pierced… to die."

He then knelt by the bed to be at eye level with her as he said the words,

"It was not he who died after all, but _I_."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Er… I should be studying right now but…

Here is the third installment. I figured I should at least get this done before I catch _the_ flu. Haha.

Thanks to all those who read and those who reviewed!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She tormented him by doing nothing at all, and he retaliated by continuing to persevere.

For days, she continued to battle the fever, and she remained cautiously doubtful even in her sleep. She felt as though she could not let her guard down, for fear that his presence might _mislead_ her once more. So even in her dreams, she refused to touch him, to speak to him, though she desperately wanted to. She held back and stayed away, in an effort to remain close to _her Gabranth_ and as far away from his doppelganger as possible.

He, on the other hand, continued to fool everyone else, yet he earnestly remained true to her. Carrying on with his usual duties within the palace walls while still keeping his vigil within the privacy of his room was starting to take a toll on his body, and it did not help that his patient was unwilling and distrustful at that. He knew they were strangers and she saw him a foe, but still he wanted to offer his friendship, or at the very least, his protection. That much he owed his brother; that much he owed himself. His pride had taken a beating many times before, yet honor gave him strength. He only wished for more tolerance, for he felt nearly drained.

The sight of him made her furious, but oddly it fascinated her as well. He was Gabranth in all respects, as he moved with ease and effortlessly carried out this façade. He shamelessly donned his armor, and even successfully copied his scowl. She easily understood the different expressions in his eyes though cloaked with the same fake calm exterior she saw many times before. She saw the genuine concern, apparent pain, and evident tiredness. She could read him just as well as she could read Gabranth and she faintly wondered how dissimilar they truly were.

Yet his touch was warm, scalding, even when he was hesitant in reaching out to her as he pulled her from her nightmares. That alone was a clear indication that he was not the man she knew. When she did not dream of Gabranth, she remembered her mother. Like a sick jest of fate, his big calloused hands reminded her of her gentle mother, who nursed her to health, who gave her life. Or perhaps it was a lover that she was reminded of, though she realized that that would be quite absurd for she could not have had such a memory. She never got the same care from any man like this before, and the only lover she knew did not have the same touch as his. While he had his face and moved like he did, he blatantly acted differently. It infuriated her for it desecrated her memory of him, for it confused her immensely.

"I am starting to think that taking your life would be the only way to end your misery," he finally spoke in low tones as he hid behind the shadows in the room when he realized that his aid was still unwelcome.

She tilted her head and faced him, and it was the first time she truly wanted to address him, "Then do it," she replied defiantly, "Remain true to your act, for the real Gabranth had done the same thing."

He shook his head as he unclasped the familiar armor and removed it piece by piece. "Do you really think you know him that well?" He removed the black armor with ease, as though it were his own. He wondered whether he and his brother were more alike with it on or with it off. "Do you think we even speak of the same man?"

She bit her lip as she fought her anger. How dare he speak to her in such a way. He was the one who caused his pain. She was the one who remained with him when he was most vulnerable, when he felt abandoned. It was his fault that her Gabranth became who he was – he was the reason why _Gabranth_ was even born. She remained with him through thick and thin; how dare he question her when _he was not there! _

"The real Gabranth-"

"There is no real or false Gabranth. He was Gabranth. I am Gabranth. I might not have known the man you speak of, but I do know… I knew _him_. I knew him long before you did." He looked upon her with an intense gaze that showed anger that matched hers, boiling within. "_He_ kept you alive. _He_ wanted you to live. Such was _his_ nature. _He_ would not even think of taking your life."

They both remained silent for a few minutes, as she looked away and tried to unclench her fists while he moved tensely, hoping to preoccupy himself with other things as he tried to calm down.

He effortlessly slipped on his brother's clothes and continued to arrange what once were his things. It was a familiar task, for they used to share almost everything. Now that they shared the same life, now that he had to deal with the same woman, he often asked himself how it had been like for his brother. He did not know if he must lose himself, or just lose _him_ completely. He did not know how to make her understand, how to make her know who his brother truly was. He was certain _he _loved her as himself, and she was being shortchanged by seeing _him_ only for what he purported to be.

"He acceded to my request… he let me die."

He spared her a glance as she spoke, and felt something tug at his heart upon hearing her dejection. _Damn you Noah,_ he thought, as he realized how he kept her in the dark all along. The woman trusted him with all her heart and continued to hold on to his memory after his death. She took his unwanted mistake as her own, and she possibly did not realize how important she truly was to him. How was he to tell her that her memory of him had been quite unjust, especially now that he left her a legacy – now that they shared something that transcended his death? How would that child ever know his father, when the mother did not know the man herself?

He walked slowly and finally sat on the chair by the bed, so she could hear him speak, "He had always been good in cloaking his intentions. He could show anger instead of pain, hostility instead of affection. He'll let you believe that you had your way, but at the last possible moment, he'd act on his own." Vividly, he remembered how he raised his sword to Vayne… and how he received the blow that ultimately cost him his life. "He had his way with you… Noah… he was cunning even when he did not intend to be so."

"Noah," she whispered the familiar name. She knew it was the name he had abandoned, to escape the life he once had. It represented what he once was, what he once had. The name held the key to all his pain, all his suffering and all his naiveté. Noah was the man Gabranth always kept inside his frozen heart.

"Aye, Noah." His frown eased as he looked at her intently, "The man I knew, the man who saved your life, his name was Noah."

"I do not know this man you speak of. I refuse to acknowledge-"

"But you must!" he grabbed her arm fiercely, and shook her slightly to make her look at him. "You must." Abruptly, he let go and bent his head. He hurt for his brother, and now he also hurt for the woman who wanted to love him. "He must now be your reason to live, if you no longer wish to live for yourself." She looked at him confusedly, and he continued to match her gaze unfalteringly.

"Listen to me Drace… you must live. Live…for Noah…" he stopped slightly, and she saw the way he struggled to with what seemed to be knots on his throat. "Drace… Live for the sake of that child you are now carrying…" Her eyes widened then, looking unsure if she heard him correctly. "You must live Drace, for Noah's unborn child."

She shook her head as the words echoed in her mind. A child… a child… she furiously grabbed the sheets, the flat starched sheets of the familiar bed. She remembered his touch, his kisses, that night. She remembered the glory, the sadness, the pain and she was mortified by what she was just told.

"You lie… you lie!" She was given new life; so was he, though not in a way she had anticipated. Never in her dreams had she thought it possible… never… never… and she was even told by the man who had the same face, the same eyes, the same voice… She no longer knew what to think. She no longer knew what she must believe to be real.

At that point what was left of her frail composure finally broke into pieces. She was willing to take her own life now if fate would not let other means do her in. _Damn you, Gabranth_, she thought, for she had no one else to blame for her pain. _Damn you_ she wanted to tell the man before her. _Damn those eyes, damn that face, damn that voice… _She wondered if that child would look the same way should he truly exist. _Damn this curse, damn this life_. Would death be less painful? Would death truly be peaceful?

To make things worse, he even sat by the bed and locked her in a tight embrace.

"Damn it, damn it all."

_  
_And there she bitterly wept.

* * *

_He never thought he'd ever have a reason to hate the snow yet it was the very reason why he remained sick in bed now. He remained cold and shivering in his tiny bed but he still felt himself burning within. Despite his parents' warnings, he stubbornly continued to brave the hail to try out his new traps; he might have even learned a new trick or two. It nevertheless did not seem worth it, now that the doctor proclaimed him too unwell to go out and see the fireworks tonight. _

_He missed their usual spot, where he was sure his father would build the tent where his mother would keep all the food and the treats. He missed that tree he always climbed to feel nearer to the sky - that tree that made him feel as though he could reach the colored sparks with his bare hands. He missed the noise; he missed the laughter… especially now that the room seemed too quiet, too dark, too lonely. _

"_Too late for regrets now Basch."_

_He did not expect to hear his brother's voice and almost thought he was perhaps getting delirious. Slowly he turned to see that familiar cocky grin he always had whenever he was sure he had caught him off guard. _

"_I told you, Mother had to call for you thrice!"_

_He grunted as he pulled the blanket over his head. "I told you, I need to get some sleep."_

_He felt slightly annoyed at his brother's antics. He thought they had already left, but it seems Noah would not leave until he was sure that he regretted every single minute he stayed out in the cold against their parents' wishes. _

"_Sleep? Fine. Then you can dream of Mother's cooking. Did you smell what she was preparing for tonight?" He stopped and chucked, "Oh right. I forgot that your nostrils are too clogged for you to even smell a rotting mandragora." _

_  
He fought the urge to hurl a pillow at him as he continued, "I think she packed grilled ribs and corn muffins. Oh! And father promised he'd let us drink wine now that we are nine remember? I saw the bottle uncle got from Bhujerba earlier… it seemed really good, they called it a madu...maduk? madru?"_

"_Madhu," he grumbled as he turned and faced the wall once more. He tugged the blanket slightly away from his face when he was already having trouble breathing. "How do you expect to drink it when you do not even know what it is called?"_

_It was Noah's turn to grunt indignantly, "How do you expect to do anything when you cannot even get out of the house?" _

"_How do you expect to catch up with them when you're still here?" he retorted angrily, starting to get fed up with his brother's bragging. _

"_If you were not so stubborn then you would not have gotten sick," Noah said as he heard him shuffling around in their room. "This is all your fault."_

"_I never said it wasn't, and it has nothing to do with you." He threw his blanket aside and turned in the bed to face his brother once more "What is your problem Noah? I'm miserable enough as it is." _

"_Good"_

"_Fine," he stood up with his wobbly legs barely letting him keep his balance. He had every intention to push his brother out the door but he suddenly had a sneezing fit instead. He only managed to walk a few steps and he ungracefully plopped on Noah's bed which was right across his. He sniffed slightly and muttered, "Just leave Noah."_

"_Idiot," Noah muttered back as he pulled him from the other end of the bed so he ended up right in the center of it. He pulled out his blankets from under one of his pillows and tucked him in. "You stubborn idiot."_

"_You are the stubborn one. I told you to leave me alone. Go. Father probably needs help with the bonfire," he mumbled groggily as he nuzzled Noah's pillow._

"_They left an hour ago." His brother said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Basch, if you mess up my pillow, I swear…"_

_He had a hard time understanding what he just said. "Who left?"_

"_Mother and Father! What, are you starting to get senile too?" he pushed him more to the side as he settled down on the space beside him. _

"_What are you still here for then?" he asked as he turned his head and finally met his brother eye to eye. _

"_It's your fault for getting sick. I would have to climb the tree alone… and finish all the food. I do not even know if I can handle the madru, what if Uncle forces me to drink all of it?"_

_He was going to correct him when suddenly what Noah meant by his words finally sunk in. "It's madhu, Noah." His eyes softened as he looked upon his mirror image. "I promise to drink with you next year, that is, if Uncle brings another bottle with him then."_

_Noah chuckled as he wriggled slightly on the bed, "You better. You promised to always stick with me remember?"_

"_I remember." He smiled wryly. "But do you not think we are a bit too close…right now?"_

"_It is your fault. You're in my bed." He elbowed him on his rib, "and my pillow Basch… seriously." _

_He coughed on it playfully just to spite him and could not stop cackling when Noah locked his arm around his neck and attempted to choke him off. _

* * *

Her hatred for him already reached its peak, and if the anger did not consume her enough to do him in, she figured, she might just die of it instead. But as she still could not move half of her body or even get out of bed, she continued to be helpless, continued to depend on him for the smallest tasks. Clearly, that had not been her intention. She could have stayed in bed and waited for death to come for all she cared, but he stubbornly continued to push her and move her to do the tasks needed for her continued survival.

His demeanor changed nonetheless. Now it seemed as though the hatred she felt was being reciprocated. He acted somewhat like a puppeteer, as his supposed gentleness now seemed to have a tinge of indifference. He no longer bothered to ask her how she was feeling. He no longer remained religiously by her side. He no longer bothered to be cordial and instead treated her like she were no more than a pet that had to be fed at regular intervals. To her utter shame his treatment of her regressed to the point where she felt no more than a doll. Just that morning, he dropped her in a tub full of cold water so she could finally bathe. She felt filthier as he pulled on her scalp and rubbed her feet. He briskly toweled her off afterwards, and did not even bother to notice how flushed her skin has become or how piercing her gaze had been on him. Now that she thought about it, he did not even seem like he actually looked at her at all. He acted mechanically as he dressed her in one of Gabranth's old shirts and dumped her in the old bed, now with what seemed to be newly changed sheets. Before he left, he placed a comb by the bedside and simply told her to "look presentable," without even bothering to tell her why. Perhaps he saw her no more than an accessory in his room now, but still, she could not care less.

He was starting to act like the Gabranth she remembered. Faintly, she wondered if he had been doing it out of courtesy for the coldness she showed him thus far. Could he have been merely trying to appease her? Did he think he'd be less of a stranger if his actions had been more in tune with her supposedly misconceived image instead?

She idly touched the comb and acceded to his demand after mulling over her situation started to give her a headache. How he acts would not change things. In the end, he was more than determined to keep her alive, whether they both liked it or not.

She could not even remember anymore the last time she was glad to be alive. She would not say her life had been completely futile, but still, the trials seemed to outweigh all the joys of living. She was often praised for accomplishing what seemed to be impossible feats for women of her stature, but behind her back she was mocked for living a pitiful life. She was her father's only daughter and her worth had been no more than what her dowry should have been. Yet she decided to be a judge to make him proud – to prove to high society that she could be worth so much more. In the end, her authority had been her curse, for while it gave her the power to do as she had intended, it caused her estrangement and tore her away from the life she should have had. She wondered what her father would think now of what she had become. She was a failed magister; she was a tainted woman. Now she was sure to fuel his prejudice, if she hadn't done so already.

Perhaps her father had been relieved of her _death._ Surely, he never seemed to be happy to see her when she was still _alive_. She embodied his lost hope, his regret, and over the years she stopped bothering to understand why it was so. Over the years she stopped proving her worth to him – and he ceased caring for her completely just the same.

It was just her luck to be surrounded by callous men. The Judge Magisters of Archadia were never known for their warmth after all. Moving up the ranks surely was not a walk in the park. She initially thought to be a rose among the thorns, yet she came to her senses and realized what a joke that thought had been. Instead she tried to be a chameleon among the savage beasts that she may survive in the mess she got herself into. She started to be worth more as she lost herself, and she felt more alive as she died within.

Why did she hold on for so long? It had been so easy to let go. Now she's left with no choice but to hold on once more – with people pushing her to do just that. There was Gabranth…and that …man, and now she had this, this child supposedly growing in her womb. She touched it and felt nothing and she toyed with the idea that perhaps it was all just a ploy after all. Here she was doubting life, loathing life, yet now she was given the idea that she could bring another life to this world. She had forgotten all about this possibility a long time ago when she started to don her armor. Now that she was left bare, she could not even reassert herself that she was still capable of having the life she had forgotten.

Had her life been that miserable? Had she been living in vain all her life?

That was not true, she thought. At the back of her mind she knew she had something… she had something worth living for.

She did not even notice how the door in the small room opened slowly. She only saw his pitch black hair, his big blue eyes and his innocent features…

_It was then that she remembered… It was when she found another person to protect that she finally realized that it was all worth it. Ironically, she felt glad to be alive the moment she realized she could give up her life just for him. _

"Drace…."

_She saw so much potential in the young Solidor boy that he seemed more precious than life itself. In him she saw hope. _

_She let him grow and gave him parts of herself. He was more than a liege, more than a ward, or even more than a pupil. He was her fragile jewel; he was the keeper of her old self. _

"Is that really you Drace?"

_She and Gabranth both vowed to protect him. Perhaps the boy had the same effect on him as well. He was their saving grace, their retribution for all the crimes they had committed. She never really fathomed why it had been so, and at the back of her mind she figured the boy almost seemed like their own. He had a piece of them both, and his growth brought them pride and hope for the future. He gave them a reason to live – to truly live, not just carry on like empty casts of their old selves. _

"Larsa"

"Drace!"

She never thought she could touch him like this again. One of her regrets before she _died_ was that she never got to say goodbye to the boy. But now he embraced her tightly, so tightly, like a child who had just been reunited with his mother.

She whispered his name over and over again as she remembered. She remembered her vow to protect him, and Gabranth's vow to care for him as well. Now he was with her once more she felt the pain ease in her heart.

She opened her eyes and saw him at the far corner of the room by the door, watching their reunion… with those same eyes, same hair, same armor… yet there was something unfamiliar in his face.

A smile

He had a warm smile that seemed to emanate from within. It was too different from his scowl… that scowl she believed he had copied from him. Yet seeing his familiar face smile made her wonder if perhaps Gabranth truly smiled as he watched them now from wherever he was at that moment.

"I am so glad you are alive Drace. I am just so glad, so glad!" Larsa said as he struggled to hold back his tears.

She looked at the boy and felt tears in her eyes. How was this possible, she thought, how could a miracle occur in the middle of her despair?

"I am glad to have this chance too, to see you again this way," she replied as she brushed away the locks from his face.

With that she heard the door close and she swore she saw his smile fade into that familiar smug look before he left the room.

* * *

Author's notes: Thank you very much for all those who read! I know I'm slower than ever but ... er... please bear with me.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She quietly observed the young man as he moved around in the small room, not because she did not have anything to say, but because she could not get over the choked up feeling she had inside. She felt a certain ache in her chest, but it was far from painful. In a strange kind of way it gave her joy, and made her body tingle all over. It was only then that she started to appreciate her restored life.

Larsa grinned as he placed the food tray by the bedside table so he could sit beside her in the bed once more. "I suddenly recalled that time when I caught a cold," he said as he looked away briefly as his grin faded into a timid smile. His cerulean eyes sparkled with delight as he reminisced, "You gave me quite a scolding, yet you never left my side." He glanced back and when he saw her smiling as well, he held her hand with his gloved ones and added, "Perhaps I must repay your kindness… It was after all your fault why I am still fully clothed from neck to toe!"

He then raised his free hand and pointed his finger at her as though he were chastising her, "Potions were never made to heal people; it was merely something made to save them on the most unfortunate days!" he said authoritatively as he told her the words she uttered to him long ago, "Real men must not depend on their luck, for in the end, you would only have your health to depend on for your ultimate survival!"

"Well said, my lord," she replied, her voice still thick with emotion, as his words just made her remember just how much he had truly grown. "I take it that you have taken my advice to heart?"

"Your nagging and … loving guidance, Judge mother," Larsa laughed as he squeezed her hand. "Now that I am emperor, I would be more than willing to use my authority to keep you to myself. You shall be Judge no more."

"Larsa," she spoke in her admonishing tone.

He bowed sheepishly yet continued to smile, knowing she only had his best interest at heart, "I apologize if I sounded too childish."

"It is just as well," she sighed, "No one must know that I still live. It would put the power and authority of the Archadian Magistrate to question."

"But Drace, I now have the power to grant you clemency."

"Do not use your authority so carelessly Larsa," her eyes were soft though her voice still carried a stern tone, "In my absence, have you forgotten all that I've taught you in the past?"

The young emperor shook his head, "Not all Drace. Not a single lesson in fact. I just… lost so much in the war. I have become selfish… losing those dear to me now has become an even greater fear."

"Larsa," she sighed as she placed her arm around the boy's shoulders. "You've suffered so much, and you're barely a grown man. I have failed … failed to protect your innocence my Lord, forgive me."

"That is not true Drace," he retorted, "these tragedies helped me grow. It taught me how valuable innocence truly can be. With this I can vow to protect others' innocence, that they may face a world without war."

_Said just like an emperor,_ she thought as pride swelled in her heart. She brushed his hair away from his face and finally saw how much her young charge had changed. Soon she may not even be able to treat him this way.

"Trust me Drace. Just promise not to leave me," and still, she could see the young boy he once was. He trusted her fully, and continued to yearn for her care. "Besides, I am sure Basch would be able to figure out something. You'll see."

The mention of his name made her withdraw her hand quite abruptly.

_So the traitor had a name, _she thought bitterly. _Basch Fon Ronsenberg, _how could she have forgotten the name of that man who once was a political prisoner and was now a wolf in sheep's clothing? Gabranth never mentioned his name, except perhaps in the middle of his fitful sleep, yet she could not help but feel uneasy now that Larsa said his name with what seemed to be subtle admiration in his voice.

Larsa seemed to have noticed the change in her mood and he worriedly leaned closer to see what was wrong. He noted the hesitation in his guardian's eyes until she finally spoke her mind.

"I see that you have given this man your confidence, but you know so very little about-"

"- Yes, I do trust Basch completely," he cut her off, seeing for the first time what Basch had advised him about before he brought him there. He knew of her distrust and it was not too surprising. All she knew about him was that he was a fugitive of the empire and the sworn enemy of Gabranth. He knew she probably did not believe Basch's explanations, and this was why only he could cast her worries aside.

"The way he willingly complied with his brother's request to care for me in his stead is enough reason for me to believe in him," Larsa spoke with pleading eyes, "you have to learn to trust him as well, Drace. The empire had been most unkind to him, and yet he remained beside me despite wanting to be somewhere else."

"He is here… upon _his_ request?" Drace's eyes widened as she repeated the words, still doubting what she just heard. It was bad enough for her to realize that the man had not been where he was supposed to be – and it was even worse to realize that it was not through his own volition that he was there in the first place.

"Yes he…" If Larsa thought her question was strange, he did not tell her outright. Her surprise was totally unexpected. He had never seen his guardian so fazed before, and to think he merely uttered a statement of fact… a fact that she probably did not know about…?

When the realization dawned on him, his eyes widened and he suddenly felt a certain ache in his chest, "Did Basch not tell…"

He knew just by looking at her blank stare that he did not need to ask any further. Basch did not bother to explain after all. It seemed like she were never told of what happened that fateful day. Yet when Basch told him that she was already aware that he was not the Gabranth she knew, he just assumed that she knew everything but merely doubted his loyalty. How can she not inquire about what became of Gabranth? How can he not explain to her why he was there?

How was he supposed to tell her, especially now that the circumstances surrounding Gabranth's death was something he never wanted her to know? She did not know that it was Vayne, his own flesh and blood, who dealt the blow that ultimately caused his death. She did not know that it was for his sake that Gabranth received the blow in the first place.

"…after all that happened, he still acceded?" she asked confusedly, abruptly pulling away Larsa from the deep pit of his guilt, "They reached an agreement? He wished for him to live his life?"

What did she know? Just what was he supposed to tell her to lessen the pain?

"Yes Drace," Larsa spoke as he held her hand tightly in his and nodded, "I was there… in his deathbed. He did not leave until…" the boy closed his eyes tightly as the painful memories came back, "Basch promised him. That is the reason why he now rests in peace."

Drace struggled to swallow what seemed to be knots in her throat. Gabranth was dead, and that was the only truth she was made to believe in this new life she had. All she had were mere assumptions, mere conclusions that were slowly being overturned. She would not have believed Basch's narration anyway, and that was probably why he opted to leave her in the dark. He never tried to defend himself, and even up to that moment, she still saw him as a deceitful enemy. Yet now that Larsa struggled to tell her what really occurred, now that she saw how much pain her young charge was still going through, she could not help but reassess her judgment on the matter.

Tearfully, Larsa bowed his head while still clasping her hand tightly. "I am sorry Drace. It had all been for me. Gabranth… Basch… and you as well, I am to blame for everything that -"

"It is because of you that we truly felt alive," Drace murmured as she pulled the boy close in a motherly embrace, "feel alive." The pain in her chest that sprung from her devotion and deep affection for the boy made her more human. To realize she had a soul though she was left bare made her feel less like she was stripped of everything. She was sure Gabranth felt the same way even as he faced his own death; perhaps it was much like how she felt when she too _had died_.

Gabranth passed on the torch just as she had done to him. Now that the new Gabranth brought Larsa back to her, and the old Gabranth preserved her life, everything just came back to full circle. Strangely enough, Gabranth's orchestration put everything back in its place, though she was still admittedly lost in all this.

Though he was a means to an end, she still couldn't find it in her heart to trust _him_.

"Basch Fon Ronsenburg," she muttered. The unfamiliar name still could not sit in well with her; and she figured she might never even learn to accept the man.

"He is a good man Drace," Larsa whispered ardently when he heard the spite in her voice, "He _is_ Gabranth's twin brother. They are more alike than you think."

"I do not know if we could trust him."

"Trust him Drace," the young lord replied with finality. "Gabranth did, and you should do the same."

_Larsa did not know about the pain Gabranth went through_, Drace thought. The boy never heard, never saw his deep hatred for the man he trusted the most. Basch fon Ronsenburg destroyed him, and made him suffer as she watched with her own eyes.

"_Do you really think you know him that well?"_

His words echoed in her mind as doubts started dousing her fury. She knew the man he left behind. She knew each broken fragment of his tormented soul.

"_Do you think we even speak of the same man?"_

She saw him at his worst. She was with him as he tried to get his life back by losing the one he left behind in Landis. She got a glimpse of his frozen heart, but never really felt like she saw what was within. She never tried, as she kept her own heart frozen as well.

"Please Drace, for my sake. At least give him a chance."

His pleading eyes were too much for her to bear. She leaned back and tried to smile, as she gave the boy a silent nod. She hoped he would not see her hesitation as she struggled with it within.

* * *

"_No!"_

_To the Judge Magister Drace's utter shame, the boy's defiant cry was heard by the councilors passing by the wide corridors of the Solidor Mansion. He was usually an agreeable boy, but now at the age of five, the young heir was beginning to have an air of importance about him that was probably brought about more by his innocence than pompousness. _

"_Young man, you possibly cannot walk around looking filthy and undignified," she grumbled as she bent down to be at eye level with the boy. "If you would continue to struggle against your nanny's wishes, then very well, I am left with no choice but to enforce judgment upon you."_

"_And what will you do?" the young boy replied as he pouted his lips, the fear in his eyes betraying the determination in his voice. _

"_I shall change your clothes before I send you to bed!"_

"_NO!" the boy cried even louder, as though she meant to send him to the gallows instead. "Lord brother said it is all right to be dirty sometimes. It is part of bein' a man."_

_Drace was taken aback. Surely the older Solidor talked about another thing altogether, though young Larsa's pure heart could not understand his words any other way. _

"_But a good man is always clean, not rank as a hyena."_

"_A high-ye na?" _

"_An animal, my lord," she was starting to find it hard not to smile as the boy's big round cerulean eyes continued to charm her. "A wild animal that is wicked to the core."_

_Having remembered the bedtime story he was told the night before, Larsa instinctively pulled back. Drace decided to take her chance now that the boy seemed to have faltered. "Let us go then, I'll have you changed."_

"_No!" the young boy replied stubbornly, getting his fortitude back in an instant. _

"_Then I shall do it myself."_

"_No no no!" the boy finally turned around and ran away. "I cannot let you see my…no!"_

_What did the boy hide from her? Drace stopped and looked at the boy in confusion. _

_She was surprised to hear a chuckle from behind her, and for a while she forgot about her current predicament. _

"_The boy now knows shame, and he looks quite determined to educate you about it too."_

_She looked at him sharply with her fierce expression more frightening than her horned helmet, that it did not matter that she had it off. _

"_The newcomer has too much time in his hands, I see," she hissed as she started walking towards the young lord. _

"_Just enough to learn more about Archadian politics I suppose," he replied as he calmly walked behind her. _

"_Very well then, you might as well be useful now that you are here." Drace scooped up the young boy effortlessly and showed him to Gabranth. "Care to assist the young lord with his problem?"_

_Gabranth's expression remained unflappable as he looked at the young boy. Drace immediately regretted the words she uttered, realizing that the man probably was as heartless as the other bastards in the Archadian court. _

"_I think not… I bid you farewe-"_

"_I am pleased to meet you my lord. I am Judge Magister Gabranth, at your service," he said solemnly as he genuflected before the boy. _

_Larsa clung tighter to Drace's arms, though the sight of the tall man fascinated him despite intimidating him as well. It was his first time to actually see his face without the mask, and he was glad to know that he was also human. _

"_I heard about your problem, my lord, and I will be more than willing to assist you in any way."_

"_Good men are supposed to be clean?" Larsa asked softly, hesitantly, as he looked at him once more. _

"_Aye," he replied and the boy saw a hint of a smile in his face. _

"_You are a good man then. Drace said so," the boy said victoriously when he looked at Drace as he pointed at him, "he's clean, isn't he?"_

_She was about to correct him on his misapplied logic, but decided to put the lesson on hold just to have him changed as soon as possible. She placed the boy back on his feet as he guided the two to Larsa's room. She looked at him in wonder as she realized how the boy seemed to look at the tall man in admiration all the while. _

_Right before they entered his room, Drace stopped the other judge in his tracks as she pulled him aside briefly. "I do not know what you are planning, but hear this. I will not hesitate to send you to hell if you even try to hurt a single strand on that boy's hair." _

_Gabranth merely sighed as he pushed her hands away. "Good men stick together. It is something even he knows." _

_And with that he closed the door to her face, not even giving her a chance to retaliate. _

* * *

Judge Magister Gabranth walked by the young Emperor's side in the Solidor Mansion's wide corridors, hoping not to make a sound for it was already the middle of the night, but the way his feet felt like a ton each made it an impossible task.

"I told you, you need not escort me back," Larsa whispered as he looked up to see the tired man's face. "You must go back and care for your guest."

"I am doing her a favor by being away," he muttered with his eyes downcast, "and perhaps it is a favor to myself as well?"

The younger man chuckled at his guardian's uncharacteristic candidness. "She is a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?"

"Aye," he sighed, just then Larsa saw a certain glimmer in his eyes as he added, "albeit quite vulnerable as well."

He nodded, thinking he knew exactly what he meant. He knew there was a strong bond between her and Gabranth and now that he was gone and was replaced by Basch, confusion, as well as grief and anger probably consumed her whenever she saw him. He may never fully comprehend her feelings at the moment, but he knew that it was a miracle that she even managed to act like she used to when he met her earlier. He knew she would learn to accept things over time.

She might even probably learn to acknowledge Basch.

Larsa suddenly looked up as that thought dawned on him.

He noted how miserable the older man seemed to be, as his face was sterner than usual. Like her, Basch was probably grieving still and yet to have another person (someone who his brother cared for at that) under his care might have been another twist in his life. Perhaps the two of them would learn a few things from each other?

Basch noticed the boy's amused expression then and he stopped as he matched his lord's wide eyes with his own questioning ones.

"You do know, right?" Larsa asked suddenly, as he placed his gloved hand over Basch's arm, "You already know how special she is."

He did not know where the young man's question was headed, and he merely frowned in reply. Larsa seemed to be asking the obvious and he wondered what his statement truly meant.

"She may be fragile now, but soon you'll know how truly precious she is," he continued, still to the confusion of the judge magister.

"I shall see to her welfare, if that is what you are asking," Basch said solemnly, "Noah valued her life more than his and I intend to accord her with the same deference."

Larsa nodded, and realized the predicament…or rather the opportunity that may unfold out of this situation. He was immensely pleased with the possibility. "Perhaps you and your brother would share more than high regard for Drace as well?

Basch's eyes widened, unable to stifle his surprise at his charge's words. After which, he did not know how to properly react.

"She is quite important to me, and I only want what is best for her," Larsa continued, suddenly feeling more like an adult as he talked to Basch.

"I would not …"

"I trust you. I trust you fully. She may not share the same sentiment now, but I want to let you know that…and I say this, from one man to another… You have my full support."

Basch closed his eyes and sighed heavily, not quite believing what his charge, several decades his junior, just told him. _It isn't funny Noah, _he muttered silently in his mind, suddenly quite worn out of the twists of fate life threw at him.

* * *

Author's Notes: er… it's been a while, hasn't it been? I'm sorry. I've just been extremely busy and I was "out of the zone" or something. I was planning to post this chapter after I've finished the next chapter but it's still a bit fuzzy in my head (haha actually, my WHOLE mind is fuzzy. I blame school. *_*) so it'll take me forever. I would like to thank those who'd still be around to read this. I'm really sorry for being a slowpoke and I hope it's still interesting so far.

I've been thinking about the next chapter in my head, and I think it might be a happy/relatively light chapter, but then I don't know how to transition after all the angst and emo-ness in the previous chapters. And at the same time, I'm itching to develop the relationship between drace and basch. Well…I don't really know how to attack this. I have the end in mind but the middle is a bit fuzzy. I would appreciate any help/suggestions. Well that's all for now. I hope to see you soon.


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